


Headed Home

by sam_erotica



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bartender Jared, Dream Sex, Eventual Explicit Rating, Jared whines like a pro, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past physical abuse, Phone Sex, Slow Build, Trucker Jensen, healing from grief, past Jared/other - Freeform, past Jensen/Jeff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2018-12-21 18:36:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11950236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sam_erotica/pseuds/sam_erotica
Summary: Jensen hasn't been home in a long time. Maybe it isn't where he left it anymore.Jared and Jensen heal from their pasts and try to find love with each other. It’s not always easy to keep life moving forward.





	1. Chapter 1

There isn't much of interest for Jensen in Jarrell, TX. 

He grew up less than 3 hours drive from Jarrell, after all. Kitschy Texas-y memorabilia doesn't really grab his attention, and he already has the little Lone Star State shaped charm hanging from the rear view. A gift from Mack when he moved away, the word "Home" hopefully scrawled on its face.

It doesn't feel like home anymore. Home is 671 miles away from Jarrell. Home is wherever Jeff is. 

Or, was.

He's not really sure where home is anymore.

But Jarrell does have a Flying J with seven diesel lanes and 8 showers and plenty of spaces to park overnight. It's the halfway point on his route. He gets clean and fed and can close his eyes for a bit. Sleep doesn't always come, but he can rest. He can try to rest.

There's isn't much of interest here, except the Flying J, and around the corner a crappy Mexican restaurant with a bar and a tall bartender with kind eyes. 

And for now, that's enough.

***

This feels good. Laughing, he'd forgotten how good it feels. Fingers dragging through the condensation on his glass, Jensen looks up at the bartender who'd introduced himself as Jared and feels the muscles in his face genuinely relax into it. 

In a moment like this, looking into eyes like that, a man can forget all the places inside him that still hurt.

Jensen's gaze is drawn to the approach of the other guy who apparently works here, who wears a nametag that says "The Chad" on it like he's won some sort of contest. The Chad throws his arm around Jared's shoulders, eyes Jensen with suspicion.

"Delivery's all sorted, Jare," he says, looking at Jensen. Jensen feels his smile slipping under the scrutiny.

Jared turns, removes the hand from his shoulder carefully. Jensen is hit with the sudden tension like a wave of Texas heat in his face.

"Thanks, man," Jared says. "The produce too?"

"Yep, except the guy said there was a problem with the limes. I'll run out and grab some." He eyes Jensen again, then turns back to Jared, hooks his fingers through Jared's belt loop. "You good here? This guy done flirting with you?"

Ah, there it is, Jensen thinks. No beautiful moment can be just a beautiful moment. It's all gotta be so complicated. 

"Jesus, Chad," Jared snaps. "What is wrong with you?" Chad pulls his hand away from Jared's sudden searing flame.

Jeff would have loved this, he thinks. He would've leaned back and smirked from behind his scotch, waited for the drama to unfold like a telenovela. 

Jensen just slides from the stool, tucks a bill under his glass, still half full. He feels the sad smile forming.

"Thanks for the company, Jared. You made me feel right at home."

"Jensen, wait, you don't have to..."

"I had a home in Albuquerque, you know." Jensen pauses. What the hell is he doing? Is he really going to tell this story to the gorgeous bartender and his douchebag friend?

"Well, I still have it, actually." He's really doing this. He looks into Jared's eyes, sees the question mark lingering. "But I don't live there. It was perfect for me and Jeff, but I can't live there by myself. So I pay too much rent for a shithole in Boston and basically live on the road in my truck."

He turns to Chad, pushes down the sudden urge to spit in his face.

"What you misread as flirting was maybe the first time I've laughed in the 8 months since my husband died." Jensen feels his chest caving in, is fairly sure the void where his heart used to be is visible to everyone in the room. 

"Goodbye, Jared," he says, and heads for the door before the wetness forming in his eyes can spill out and drown them all.


	2. Chapter 2

Jensen doesn't see Jared for over 4 months.

After leaving the Mexicano, he wandered the third of a mile back to his truck on trembling legs. Two minutes felt like twenty. He walked deliberately, the way a drunk might to try to hide his own inebriation. One foot, then the other foot, heel then toe, heel then toe. The shaking spread to his hands and tingling fingers as he wiped hot tears and sweat from his face. _Stupid_ , he chided himself. _So stupid to have opened that Pandora's box. He had been doing okay, had been doing okay for months, and now look at this mess._

Jensen had leaned, rag doll numb, sweaty palms pressed flat against the side of his truck. Tried to take just one solid breath, to calm his racing heart. Tried to focus on anything other than the _whoosh whoosh whoosh_ of blood pounding in his ears. Another truck pulling in to park, its MP8 engine struggling a bit on the incline. _Inhale, exhale_. A child giggling as she is belted into a car seat. _Inhale, exhale_. The low hum and churn of the freeway nearby. _Inhale, stupid, and shaky fucking exhale_. Jensen's own voice in his head sounded like a bully. _You're not dying. Stop being a fucking idiot_.

Then, unbidden, Jeff's voice. _Get in the truck, babe. Let's get you some sleep. You'll feel better when the sun comes up_.

Jensen got in the truck.

Depleted, he collapsed into the sleeper cab. He toed off his shoes and melted into the mattress, _inhale, exhale_. As flat as possible, as still and quiet as possible, _deep inhale, long and slow exhale_. The pillow, calm and cold, pulled him into sleep.

 

_ Jensen dreams of Sunday morning. Their last Sunday morning. In the dream, he wakes to warm lips on the back of his neck, smiling against his skin when he grumbles himself awake. _

_ "What time is it?" Jensen reaches up to wipe sleep from his eyes. _

_ "Does it matter?" Fingers curl around his hip, solid. Jeff pulls him closer. So real. So fucking real. _

_ Jensen turns his body in Jeff's arms, his nose grazing his husband's cheek. His husband. Dream-Jensen realizes he's six months married and still not used to using that word. He tangles his fingers in Jeff's dark hair, looks into his smiling dark green eyes. _

_ They kiss like the first time, Jeff's breath of surprise puffing between them, a short, quiet laugh like I Cannot Believe This is Real and I Get to Have This. Jensen pulls him closer, fits their lips together like they were made for just this. Just exactly this. Just soft skin and tongues sliding together. Just legs falling open and hips rolling against each other, steady ocean waves against the grateful shore. _

_ Dream-Jeff skirts his fingers under Jensen's waistband with a smirk, wraps his long, confident fingers around the solid flesh he finds there. Forehead to forehead, they move together, Jeff coaxing Jensen closer to his completion with such skill. Jensen's moan wraps a blanket around them both. He reaches for Jeff's erection, knowing it will be unencumbered by clothing. Cocky bastard always did love to sleep naked. _

_ Jensen wants them to come together. He twists his fingers around the head the way he knows will make Jeff crazy, and looks up to meet his eyes. His ... hazel eyes? Familiar, but not his husband's. Jensen feels a dizzying rush of vertigo. _

_ "It's ok, babe," Jeff placates, in someone else's voice. "It's ok. We're right here. Come for us." _

_ Jensen does. _

 

He wakes suddenly with sticky shorts and a tear-stained pillow and feels a lot like the ever-heartbroken best friend from "Love Actually."

"Enough," he says to the empty sleeper in the quiet, early morning. "Enough, now."

 

***

 

After a quick checkin in Albuquerque, he doesn't go back through Jarrell, TX or to the crappy Mexican restaurant. He doesn't remember making a conscious decision to avoid it, but when his boss offers him a detour delivery on his way back to Boston, he takes it gladly. Drives deadhead toward Missouri, and from there to chaperone his new load back toward Beantown.

He tells himself and anyone who asks that he kinda likes this part of the world, this different route, even though he doesn't have a believable reason why.

He makes a point to call Mack from the Wichita Botanical Gardens, in the very moment when he notices himself appreciating the warm Midwestern sun. _See, Mack, I'm still alive. See?_   But he knows he isn't enjoying the Shakespeare garden nearly as much as she would. She asks about the Hawthorn trees, if they're in bloom. He doesn't know which ones are Hawthorn. She laughs.

"The white flowers, Jen."

"Aha," he smiles. "Then yes."

He feels her sigh over the phone line, heavy in the air as if she was sitting right next to him, not 545 miles away.

"So how are you really doing? Any more panic attacks?"

Uncanny. She knows him so well, can probably hear the tension in his voice. He almost doesn't have to say anything. She probably can also tell even without him saying so that it's different now. He's overwhelmed by the sudden realization that he's not worried about how to survive without Jeff anymore. He knows how to survive, he's doing it now. The thought that spikes his heart rate and causes his hands to tremble now is this: what happens when he meets someone for whom he wants to truly live? What if he has met them already?

Mack's voice is gentle in the burgeoning silence.

"Jen, do you think it's time to talk to someone? A professional?"

Or maybe a friend?

He meets up with Chris for a beer near the Pilot in Kansas City. Over a cold Sam Adams and a pile of crispy onion rings, the story spills from his mouth surprisingly easily. Chris always has a way of getting to the truth.

"Shit, son, she may be right. You may actually need to talk to a shrink." Chris levels his friend with a knowing gaze, a kind smile. "Or, maybe, a bartender?"

Chris always has a way of getting to the truth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Deadhead: Drive an empty truck and trailer to pick up a load somewhere else.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Albany in July is a nightmare in his rig, beginning with the Lumberjack Breakfast and followed by a seemingly endless stream of farmers markets, outdoor concerts, and county fairs. Traffic and parking, even at the spacious Plaza 23, tests his already compromised patience. He took the longer route this time to avoid construction, and begins to regret it after just a couple hundred miles.

 

He doesn't want to wait for a shower, or a seat at the local diner. He wants coffee, he wants the unobstructed, open road. The endless road, the concrete river, always returning to the source. He imagines a beer with Jared, and smiles into the thought.

 

Jensen isn't used to this feeling of wanting. Especially not the feeling of wanting to spend time with another person, someone other than Jeff. He used to want to make his delivery and get back to Albuquerque as fast as humanly possible, slide into the bed they shared and wrap his road-weary body around his husband. Coffee in bed the next day. Simple things, a simple life. His life.

 

  
_"Time to wake up, baby."_

 

_"Mmmmm, no. Sunday."_

 

_The aroma of coffee sinks into Jensen's consciousness, gentle fingers stroke through his sleep-warm hair._

 

_"Yeah, Sunday. We have all day together. No fair sleeping it away."_ _Warm breath puffs over the shell of Jensen's ear, teeth gently nipping. "_ _I have plans for you."_

 

_Jensen begins to wake. He understands why they say the right motivation is everything._

 

  
Jensen meanders down the 90 between buffalo and Cleveland, tries to enjoy the view of Lake Erie before turning off onto 71. He catches himself in a daydream seven times before he finally reminds himself to live in the moment, soak in the July sunshine as it bleeds through the windshield. Summer will melt into Fall and Fall will melt into bitter winter and bitter winter will bring another holiday alone, soon enough. The air that whistles into his cab through the driver-side window prickles on his skin, a classic 68 degrees blowing in off the water.

 

The 71 to Cincinnati is flat. The Blue Phlox and Jacob's Ladder litter the landscape, blue on blue on green on brown. Jensen's sees the blue and thinks Bluebonnets, hears cicadas and electric Texas thunderstorms. He sees the wrinkles framing Jeff's eyes as he stares in wonder at the flashes in the midnight sky. Like a kid meeting Santa Claus. Like a kid. His chest swells with longing, his cheeks ache with smiling at the memory.

 

The 40 near Nashville headed toward Memphis is a seemingly endless parade of strip malls and clusters of hickory trees. The Nashville sky is overcast as he shifts into park, the rumble of hunger echoing in his cab. 

 

The irony of eating at the Loveless Cafe is not lost on Jensen. But the warm atmosphere and laughter draws him in, reminds him of his grandma's kitchen. Everyone was always welcome in grandma’s kitchen, crowded around a blue and white checkered tablecloth, boots tapping on the warm wooden floor, Roy Orbison's voice lingering in the air. Jensen orders biscuits and fried chicken from a round woman whose name tag labels her Belle, and whose shirt proudly states “Taking care of biscuits.” Jensen listens attentively when she lists the surprising array of pies “all made right here.”

 

As he crosses the Mississippi with a full belly and some pie to go and points himself toward Dallas, Jensen notices that the clouds have burned off, leaving a riot of colors in their wake. He thinks of Indian Paintbrush growing wild in Texas and leaf peeping in Boston. He thinks of New Mexico honey and the amber hidden in Jared's eyes.

 

It is toward the end of his journey, just as he nears the Flying J, that Jensen realizes things are not business as usual. As he refuels and parks, he understands: he's not just finishing his route. He's headed back to the Mexicano, and to Jared. He's hoping Jared will be happy to see him. He hears Jeff's teasing but affectionate " _dumbass finally gets it_ " in his head and starts to feel like an idiot. How do you head "back" to someone you've met only once and who likely doesn't remember you anyway? He was one customer, one conversation, one run-in with The Chad. Just one. There's no way he made the same impact on Jared's life that Jared made on his.

 

Then, again... He stares at the front door of the Mexicano and recalls their easy laughter, the wide stretch of Jared's shimmering smile. Jensen feels his heart start beating, like he's brushing years of dust off of his favorite book, one he still knows by heart. 

 

He opens the door.

 

***

 

It turns out The Chad is a pretty decent bartender, and serves Jensen a high quality Old Fashioned.

 

Chad doesn't seem to remember Jensen, actually, which is just as well. Jensen doesn't want to remember that version of himself, either. He doesn't want to feel tonight the way he felt when he walked out the last time. The Sad Widower, The Lonely Trucker, The Loser. He doesn't want Jared to see him as any of those things.

 

He spins in his stool to survey the restaurant. Almost every table is occupied, mostly couples and groups of friends, and the hum of voices vibrates in Jensen's ear. The margaritas are plentiful and the baskets of tortilla chips glisten with salt and oil. Two women share the bar with him, laughing over their daiquiris, and Jensen is suddenly eager for company. He turns to Chad, who is engrossed by his phone.

 

"Hey man, I was hoping to run into Jared. He working tonight?"

 

It takes a few seconds for Chad to look his way, fingers tapping the screen of his iPhone. He leans forward to rest his hip on the bar.

 

"Oh, uh, no. Usually on a Friday, yeah. But I switched shifts with him. I think he said he had a date."

 

Chad looks Jensen in the eye, finally. First time all night. Blood pounds in Jensen's ears.

 

"Want me to give him a message?"

 

_Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale..._

 

"Nah, no worries," Jensen manages. "I'll catch up with him later, sometime."

 

Chad points at Jensen's glass with a questioning look. His eyes ask _Want another_? Jensen shakes his head, knocking his knuckles twice on the bar as he stands. He peels a bill from his wallet, enough for two Old Fashionds.

 

"Thanks for the drink, man."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is turning out to be Jared's POV. I guess he has some things to say.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Well. That date sucked.

 

As he locks the door of his studio apartment and crumbles onto the sofa, Jared reflects on what a spectacularly shitty first date that was. Not ordinary shitty, but somewhere along the lines of 11 out of 10 on the 5-Dimensional Scale of Failure at Social Interaction. He wishes he had those two hours and 37 minutes back.

 

He wishes he had just gotten the fucking Fettuccini Alfredo to go, and eaten it out of the fucking paper box with a stupid plastic fork in front of an old Western movie.

 

He wishes he hadn't compromised his rule about dating bar customers.

 

He wishes he could choose better men, not just arrogant and pretty men.

 

He wishes he could have a dog in this apartment.

 

Jared gets up to crack a beer and grab the remote, wondering if he can find an episode of something that will make this lousy night worth anything. Ideally, something with zombies.

 

\-----

 

At least he's not late for work. Jared supposes if that date had been more fun and he hadn't been surreptitiously watching the clock for the last hour of it, he may have actually been up too late last night. He usually kinda hates the Saturday lunch shift for this reason, but at least today he has plenty of time to get where he's going.

 

He's scouring the aisles of the Sonterra Travel Center at the Flying J for hot Cheetos and a bag of gummy worms for later when a tinny version of Sia's "Cheap Thrills" emanates from his pocket.

 

"Jesus Christ, Chad," he gripes to himself and fumbles for his phone. "What do you want?"

 

"Wow, nice. Wanna try that again?"

 

Jared takes a deep breath, tries again. "Hello darling. How is your day?" Despite his best efforts, the sarcasm bleeds through.

 

"Better than yours, apparently. Bad date?"

 

Jared deflates. He hates being so transparent.

 

"I hate that I'm so transparent. And that guy was creepy." He sighs, gives up on the chips and reaches for popcorn instead, walks toward the cooler. "He was already drinking when I got there, and wouldn't shut up about himself for two hours."

 

Chad just huffs out a short but compassionate laugh.

 

"What?" Jared barks, wary.

 

"No, nothing," Chad says, but then: "There's just always something, man. Some reason why they aren't good enough, and it was only the one date."

 

"He ordered FOR me, Chad."

 

"I'm not saying he's The One. I'm just saying maybe they aren't all as bad as they seem at first." He pauses. "They aren't all David."

 

When he hears the name, Jared sags forward, leans his forehead on the glass door of the soda case. He begins a staring contest with the Pepsi One. His voice, when he finds it, is a whisper.

 

"David didn't seem that bad at first, either. I gave him a chance and ... well, you know where that got me."

 

He stands in silence for a few beats of his nervous heart, listening to Chad's shallow breathing and feeling the cold of the refrigerator bleed into his forehead. The words " _I'm just not gonna date anymore_ " are just about to roll off his tongue. They're just hovering there, bitter behind his teeth. He's opening his mouth to say them aloud when a new voice worms its way into his consciousness.

 

"Excuse me, can I ...?"

 

Jared looks up, ready to extend a polite apology to whatever poor soul had the misfortune of encountering his grumpy ass in the drink aisle this morning. He makes contact with a pair of the greenest eyes he's ever seen. So green, and so familiar. The guy is smiling sweetly, gesturing to the cooler, and Jared steps back. He feels a wave of shock in his gut at the familiar face that stares back at him. His chest tightens. He knows this guy from somewhere. Based on the way the guy's eyes widen and his mouth drops slightly open, the feeling is mutual. Chad keeps talking.

 

"Just come in, dude. It's dead in here, we can talk."

 

The beautiful green eyes don't leave Jared's face, even as the guy reaches into the cooler for a sweet iced tea. He closes the cooler door slowly, and Jared gapes as the man's plush lips form a silent "You OK?" He really does look concerned. Jared notices the way his hands worry at the label of his iced tea, and tries not to freak the guy out by staring too long at the muscles of his forearms.

 

"Yeah, I'm good," he croaks. "Thanks."

 

"What, who are you talking to?" Chad is still rambling, even as the gorgeous stranger nods, starts to slowly walk away. Jared feels his stomach following after, anxiety and excitement settling heavy in its place. Jared doesn't want this man to walk away, but doesn't know how to call him back. The remnants of a name float behind his eyeballs -- Justin? Jason? He watches, paralyzed, as the guy pays for his drink and heads for the door, one last look over his shoulder to where Jared still stands dumbstruck, mute.

 

"Oh, hey, your boy stopped in last night."

 

"My boy? I don't have a boy." Jared massages the pain forming between his eyebrows. "Weren't you listening when I was whining before?"

 

"No, not Douchebag McTalksalot. This guy has been in the bar before, but I haven't seen him in months. I think he drives a truck? I was an asshole to him back then, but you know how protective I got, after. I don't think he remembered me last night, though..."

 

A memory clicks into place as Chad drones on. A gear shifts solidly inside Jared and he feels suddenly able to move again. Propelled by the phantom sensation of low lights in an empty bar, of comfortable laughter vibrating in his chest, and of green eyes - Jensen's green eyes - smiling softly into all the parts of him that still hurt.

 

He hangs up the phone without warning, feels his legs start moving, and heads for the door.

 

\-----

 

Jared catches up with Jensen near the diesel lanes. He's simultaneously relieved and panicked. Relieved that Jensen hasn't driven away yet, that he's just right there, cleaning the windshield of his blue Freightliner Cascadia, one foot on the step and the other propped on the fender. And having a hard time breathing because, well, what the hell is he supposed to say?

 

He just watches for a second, watches the way the denim pulls tight around a magnificent ass every time Jensen leans forward to wipe at the windshield. He's a perfectionist, keeps swiping at the same spots with strong and limber arms, leaning down close to examine his work.

 

"No, I don't think so," Jensen says softly. Jared's face wrinkles in question. Talking to himself? The windshield?

 

"No, Chris, you didn't see his face," Jensen says as he tucks a rag into his back pocket and begins to climb down off the rig. Jared realizes he's on the phone, hears the echo of a digitized voice crawling through the speakerphone. "I'm telling you it's been too long, he doesn't remember me. It's probably for the best right now, anyway."

 

Jensen turns from the step with a bottle of Windex in one hand and a phone in the other and comes face to face with Jared, stumbling a bit to avoid collision. Jared reaches out to steady them both, and finds his voice.

 

"Yes, I do. I remember you, Jensen. I remember how we laughed so easily together, and how my friend was a dick to you, and how you were so classy even though I could tell you really wanted to punch him. I remember we talked about a little bit of everything because the place was dead, and I didn't want you to leave." _I don't want you to leave. Don't leave._ Jared feels his anxiety come back suddenly like a freight train. He's making himself sound like a lonely idiot. He is a lonely idiot. What the hell is he doing?

 

They stand in stunned silence for a few beats, Jared focusing his entire awareness on not saying anything else stupid. Finally, the digitized voice of Jensen's friend pipes up with a chuckle.

 

"For the best, my ass," the voice says. "Jesus, Jen, hang up the damn phone. Go talk to your boy."


	5. Chapter 5

 

Jared dreams of Jensen's green eyes.

 

His dream feels real at first, like a memory, like his mind walking him gently through the garden of What Actually Happened. Jensen's concerned face and emerald-bright eyes shining with the light of the gas station refrigerator case. The hot air like a punch in the face as he quickens his step through the door. His words, feeling so needy as they clawed their way out through his dry throat. _I remember you. I didn't want you to leave._

 

Then, as dreams do, it morphs into something Unreal Surreal Frightening Exhilarating. It becomes everything Jared has wanted for so long.

  
_"Jesus, Jen, hang up the damn phone. Go talk to your boy."_

 

_Jensen huffed out a short laugh and blindly disconnected the call without saying goodbye. Jared tried to imagine the face of the man, Chris, on the other end of the line. A brother? A childhood friend? Who was this man that knew Jensen so well he could hang up without saying goodbye? Jensen seemed to have absolute faith that this one little selfish move wouldn't affect anything. Jared became aware of a small spark of jealousy, but kicked it to the side like a pebble. Jensen smiled then, and Jared felt his own face split in two with joy._

 

_They sat on the top of a nearby picnic table, Jensen picking self-consciously at the label of his sweet tea. Casual conversation came as easily to them as it did before, but Jared wanted more. He couldn't help the instinctual twitch of his eyes down to Jensen's lips as he talked, grinned, stared back. He wanted to taste those lips, the tiny beads of sweat on Jensen's jaw, the delicate skin just below his collar bone peeking out above the pearl buttons of Jensen's shirt. He couldn't help the way his body leaned into Jensen's like an orchid toward the sun. Jared wanted that warmth. He wanted it all._

 

_He wanted everything._

 

_Jensen looked at his watch and sighed, turning his soft gaze on Jared. He reached tentative fingers toward Jared's denim-clad knee, squeezed gently, breathed slowly, in and out._

 

_"I have to get back on the road. I didn't want to leave without touching you."_

 

_The words "thank the gods" flickered through Jared's mind as his finger's twined with Jensen's and they leaned into each other's orbits. Jared observed his inability to take his eyes off of Jensen's lips. Observed it as if someone else for a moment, out of body._

 

_"I'd really like to kiss you, Jensen." The words were brave, and the response left no room for doubt._

 

_"I want you to kiss me," Jensen said with his next exhale. "Yes, I want you to."_

 

_They melted into each other, Jared's wide palm cupping Jensen's cheek as his mouth opens easily to Jared's curious and exploring tongue. He tasted tea, and peppermint, and craved more. He craved as much of Jensen as he could reach, the palm of his right hand secure on the back of Jensen's neck, the fingers of his left curled possessively around Jensen's right hip. He felt the other man sag into him, one body dissolving into the other, the edges between one man and another man deliciously blurred._

 

_Dream-Jensen pulled back, emerald eyes searching for Jared's._

 

_"Call in sick," he said, and tilted his head toward the sleeper cab of his monstrous truck. "Come inside with me."_

 

_Dumbstruck, Dream-Jared responded with another kiss, and searched his mind for the right words as he folded himself into the sleeper after the other man. Disbelief at his good fortune made him feel smaller than his 6-foot-4 frame. But Jensen's smile as he propped on his elbows and leaned back in invitation made Jared feel big like Superman. Invincible._

 

_Dream-Jensen looked fearless, revealed his bare skin one strong limb at a time. "I want you inside me, Jared," he pleaded, his breath quickening and painting the air between them with desire as they rocked into each other, fit together like a jigsaw puzzle._

 

Jared wakes in his own bed, face pressed into the mattress, come cooling in his shorts. He wakes knowing with his brain that nothing beyond the kiss on the picnic table actually happened, but feeling with his heart as if all of it did. It should have. In the wake of the dream it all seems so real. Jared's blind intuition tells him to chase that blue Cascadia as far as it will go, until they run out of gas, until they run out of road, until they can see nothing but each other on the horizon.

 

*****

 

Jensen rolls in and out of sleep, dreams of Jared's hands, and his wide, joyful smile.

 

The dream is a collection of moments, out of order. Just fragments of reality, stitched together with threads of fiction created by whatever bits of hope still remain inside him. The armor begins to crack.

 

_Jared's supernova of a smile when Jensen disconnected his phone call._

 

_His fingers tangled with Jared's on a denim canvas._

 

_The sensation of anxiety when the sky began to darken and the road began to beckon._

 

_Jared's eyes glued to his lips as he talked about nothing._

 

_The first electric sensation as their mouths slotted together._

 

_Jared's voice, soft but insistent, "Come with me to my place, Jensen?"_

 

_His own plea of "I want you inside me, Jared."_

 

_Jared's stubble scratching his neck as their hips rolled desperately together._

 

Jensen wakes with an erection and a slight pain in his neck and an overwhelming desire to find some truth in all that fiction. To stitch those fragments together. To see what happens when the armor comes completely off, and if he even recognizes himself under there.

 

*****

 

The texts arrive in quick succession.

 

_Baby. Baybeeeee..._

 

_Too soon for me to call you baby, right? I'm sorrrryyy._

 

_I miss you. I'm really drunk and I miss you and I'm an idiot._

 

_I'm sorry._

 

Jared stares at his phone for almost 2 minutes before responding. Something's wrong.

 

_No need for sorry, Jensen. What's wrong?_

 

The little gray "message in progress" bubble appears and disappears several times while Jared waits. Finally, Jensen hits send.

 

_How can you know? You are amazing._

 

_It's been a year. A year today._

 

_Jeff died one year ago today and I'm drinking his favorite scotch. Except a lot of it._

 

_I want you so much, Jared. I wish you were here, but it's good you can't see me like this._

 

Jared's chest heaves and his heart cracks as he gives up on texting and tries to call. He gets voicemail four times before falling asleep with his phone tucked safely under his pillow.

 


	6. Chapter 6

_“You’ve reached Jared’s phone. Leave me a message.”_

“Uh, hey, Jared. It’s me, it’s Jensen. I'm sorry I missed your calls. And I'm really sorry, about before, about all those texts, and the…well. I'm feeling pretty pathetic about it right now, actually. Anyway, you didn't need that. I made my shitty day your problem and I'm really sorry. It won't happen again.... I, um, I may have gotten more attached to you than I should have, so I guess it's good that I'm on a run to New York and then back to Boston for a bit. My boss wants me to slow down, or something. He’s convinced I don’t have anything edible in my fridge anymore, I dunno. I’m rambling. I guess I just wanted to say sorry, again, and, uh, take care of yourself, Jared.... You really do deserve the best."

 

*****

 

It's nearing 2 pm as Jensen approaches Charleston, West Virginia on I-79. He's hungry and straining his neck for a view of the Elk River from his cab when the tinny little chime alerts him to an incoming text. Not wanting to look but wanting to know, his tired eyes spot the words " _Don't do that, Jensen,_ ' before he turns his attention back to where it should be - the road. His life, his refuge, his escape, his cocoon, the road. The yellows and reds of autumn foliage pass in his peripheral vision as his phone chimes a couple more times.

The Elk River Bar and Grill offers a parking lot big enough for his rig, and he maneuvers around the two trucks and a scattering of Harleys already parked there. The sparse crowd inside isn't friendly, and a couple of older guys eye Jensen warily from their posts at the pool table. But the bartender's smile is genuine enough as she passes him a light beer and recommends the bacon cheeseburger. 

Perfect, he thinks with a small chuckle. Jeff would give him shit about the cholesterol, but then would reach over his own healthy soup and salad and steal half the burger anyway, a bite at a time. The memory is making him smile, he realizes. Huh. A real smile. That's new.

Jensen's phone chimes again. There are four texts waiting now. Four new texts from Jared.

_Don't do that, Jensen, please don't do that._

_I'm attached to you too. I hope you don't shut me out now._

_I've been thinking about you way too much since you left. Are you coming back anytime soon?_

_Can we talk?_

 

*****

 

Jensen wants to talk, he does, he just doesn’t know where to start. Do they go back to the moment after the sweet-soft kiss on the picnic table and try to pick up from there? His heartbeat quickens and his stomach flutters at the thought of more of those kisses, more moments of Jared’s insistent lips on his own and Jared’s fingers clutching bruises into his hips. He wants that. God, he wants that. Does he try to back up, pretend he never dreamed of Jared’s naked body, of Jared claiming him, of being Jared’s? Do they pretend he never melted down and laid himself bare at Jared’s feet? Does he try to trust, and give Jared the chance to pick him back up?

Jensen stares out at the dusty barroom, phone cradled lightly in his left hand. The two bikers have returned to their friendly competition around the pool table, no longer interested in the newcomer, as long as he keeps to himself. The burger in front of Jensen smells amazing, and the answer floats clearly in front of his eyes, in the pattern of sesame seeds on the bun and the rising bubbles in his beer.

Yes. The answer is yes.

 

*****

 

Jared is underwater for most of the first half of his shift. One group of tourists after another, pouring over guidebooks and nursing their Lone Stars. He doesn't have the energy or the heart to recommend a better quality beer, just keeps pouring and tries to stay focused, hopes their headaches won’t be too bad tomorrow.

When things slow down enough that his mind wanders, he wonders about Jensen. He lets himself feel amazed by the part of himself that rattled off those honest and needy texts, tries not to let the usual embarrassment set in. It does anyway.

_Whatever. This is the version of myself I have to offer now, right? Acceptance starts with self, or some shit._

Jared wipes down the counter, lets his mind wander to the version he was a year ago, after David walked out. Even before they broke up, Jared remembers, he had let himself get so small. He had let David convince him he wasn’t worth it, wasn’t worth being the center of someone else’s world, wasn’t worth being happy. He relied on Chad for awhile after, because he needed some help while the ribs healed and the black eye faded and he moved into a smaller apartment, one he could afford alone. He let Chad rage on his behalf and threaten David over the phone and wished he could do it himself. And he shut down that part of himself that trusted, the part of him that believed in what people said about themselves, because nobody tells the whole truth when they want something.

He was such a cynical ass.

Then Jensen walked into his bar, and, well.

Jared hears his phone chime from its resting place next to the Grand Marnier and turns, sees a new text lighting up the nearby brown glass bottles.

_I’m coming back through next month. Still want me to stop by?_

Jared can’t help the way his face splits in half, smiling to himself as he reads the words.  

 _Yes_ , he answers too quickly. He’s way past caring about playing it cool.  _Give me a little notice and I can switch a shift with Chad._

Jensen’s reply is swift:  _Sounds good,_ followed by a  _Gotta make it at least past Cumberland before it gets too dark, then I’m gonna crash._

Jared’s smile takes over his eyes and everything else, and his thumbs fly as he bangs out  _Sleep well, Jen._

 

******

 

Jensen wakes from a dream so realistic, he struggles to catch his breath.

In the dream, he’s sitting on a soft couch in a brightly lit room, legs cradled in denim and bare feet curled under. Sunlight filters into the room through a tall window, and the air is crisp but comfortable the way it always is in autumn. Steam rises off a mug of coffee to his left. He’s resting his cheek on another man’s shoulder, the fingers of his right hand tangled with the fingers of the other man’s left hand as they read the paper together. It’s a Sunday paper, and it’s pulled open wide to the page with the comics on it. Jensen’s eyes skim over it randomly, noncommittal, as the other man seems to read intently left to right, top to bottom. Periodically, his laughter echoes in Jensen’s ears, its vibration rumbling through both of them at all the points where their bodies are touching.

It’s a warm voice, a calming voice. It’s Jared’s voice. It send shivers and waves of desire through Jensen’s dream-body.

Jensen wakes with a start, in the dark cocoon of his sleeper. His neck is stiff on the left, like he really did just spend Sunday morning tilting sideways onto Jared for however long it took him to read the funnies. He rubs at it, sits up, stretches both sides. His phone says 2:23 AM.

He skims through a few pictures he took earlier, of the sunset outside the Elk River Bar. The colors of the sky had almost perfectly mirrored the colors of the trees – yellows oranges, magenta – and Jensen had spread out on the hood of his truck for at least 30 minutes to watch them fade into the night sky. One of his photos looks like the world is well and truly on fire. Fire seems appropriate. It’s how Jensen feels these days.

He sends the picture to Jared without thinking, then lets his body fall back into the mattress.

Jared’s response is swift.  _You’re awake?_

Jensen smiles.  _So are you ;-)_

_Just off work. What’s keeping you up?_

_Not sure. Had an interesting dream._

_Aw, Jen, dreaming about me again?_ Jared flirts via three winky emojis.

Jensen dodges.  _Do you read the Sunday funnies?_

_Odd segue. Yes. There’s usually a paper at the bar, but real news makes me sad._

_Maybe I’m a psychic, then._

Jensen watches the (…) hovering there are Jared types. He should be trying to sleep, but he’s relishing this moment, this child-like grin, this buzzing in his ears, this balancing on the edge of optimism.

_Maybe you are. When you sent me that photo just now, did you know I was thinking about you?_

_Were you?_

_Yeah. Not very innocent thoughts, I’m afraid._

He feels shy in the face of Jared’s words, not sure how to respond. Then he remembers the way Jeff always used to say “Everything you want is right outside your comfort zone, Jen,” and lets his fingers move.

_You wanna tell me about them, Jared?_

 


	7. Chapter 7

_You wanna tell me about them, Jared?_

 

Jensen's last text hangs out there for a full 6 and a half minutes before he starts feeling stupid. He feels his anxiety increasing and regret setting in. Phone sex, really? Just because he’s lying in his rack, half naked and half hard and thinking about Jared, doesn’t mean it’s a good time for this. Doesn’t mean Jared wants this. He rolls to his back, and focuses on breathing to calm his pounding heart.

 

 _Extending the exhale slows your nervous system, Jensen._ His therapist had mentioned this once. _Give your body a chance to work for you._

 

Slight shadows from nearby traffic crawl across the ceiling of his sleeper as he breathes in and very slowly out. _Inhale, exhale._ Jensen grudgingly admits that he does begin to feel calmer. He’s reaching up to massage the tension in his forehead when his phone buzzes back to life.

 

_Sorry, I was driving. Home now._

 

_Still wanna know? ;-)_

 

Jensen smiles. He does, _oh god_ , he does. He rolls onto his stomach and begins to respond just as a call comes in: _Jared would like to Facetime_. He runs a hand through his hair and hits _Accept_.

 

Jared looks like he’s still arriving home, like he didn’t expect Jensen to answer so quickly. He’s closing the front door of his place, flipping the deadbolt and leaning against the door in the dark. His eyes jump back to his phone, crinkling at the corners when he catches Jensen’s sleep-soft face waiting there.

 

“Hey,” he breathes. “Here you are.”

 

“Here I am,” Jensen replies, smiles, wonders if this is the part with the awkward small talk. He watches the background shift as Jared walks through his home, clicking on a couple of lights, grabbing something from the fridge. He lets himself really look, at Jared’s calm but tired end-of-day face, hair swept back into a messy ponytail, dark shirt stretched over strong shoulders as he sits, heavy, leaning back. He looks … happy. Jared’s smile shifts the tectonic plates just under the surface of Jensen’s skin. He can feel the slow but steady rumbling in his chest – a train headed his way, a cleansing storm brewing, an earthquake.

 

He props the phone against a coffee mug on the little nook of a nightstand next to his bed and sits up, leaning back against the tiny window. There’s a padded wall to his right, and a stowed upper bunk just above. His truck sleeps two, just not in the best way possible. Jared’s eyes sweep his bare torso and Jensen looks quickly down, thinks his blankets suddenly feel too thin. He feels naked and melted under Jared’s dark gaze. It’s been a long while since he’s noticed anyone looking at his body.

 

“You can’t sleep, lucky for me,” Jared whispers, eyes hooded.

 

Jensen looks up through his eyelashes. “You have a story to tell me?”

 

******

 

Jared leans back in his bed, enjoys the moment of watching Jensen let himself flirt. He feels a smirk crawling across his face as he recalls the dream that has kept him so on the edge of molten since Jensen left. Images flash in front of his eyes, bodies like jigsaw puzzle pieces, glistening in the twilight. His face grows hot.

 

“Are you blushing?” he hears Jensen laugh. “This must be a good one. Please tell me.”

 

The sound of Jensen’s _please_ brings back the dream in a rush.

 

“My dream picked up where we left off. You invited me into your cabin.” Jared leans back as he speaks, cradling his phone against his denim-clad knees.

 

“Mmmm,” Jensen agrees, scratching lightly at the skin just below his throat. “I wanted to. It would be better in here with you.”

 

“Would you show me your space? I want to know what it looks like in there. See if it’s the same as in my imagination.”

 

Jensen smiles, reaches toward his phone. “You didn’t Google it?” he teases. Then the view shifts as Jensen spins his phone to give Jared the 360-degree view. He narrates the entire revolution.

 

“Here’s me.” A little goofy wave. “Nightstand, closet behind, there’s the cockpit, little tv, window, padded wall for when I really lose my mind, aaand…me again.” Jensen smiles, genuine, as he returns the phone to it’s place on the nightstand. He puts his whole body into his smile. “Was it everything you imagined and more?”

 

Jared laughs in the quiet of his room. “It’s pretty intimate in there. I’m not sure I’d fit.”

 

“You can sit on my lap.”

 

Jared laughs, full and sincere, head thrown back for just a second. When he looks back at the screen he sees Jensen’s face, serious, saturated with lust. He feels his stomach drop out at the sudden change in the air.

 

“I did,” he croaks then clears his throat nervously. “In my dream. You crawled backwards onto your bed and I straddled your lap like I belonged there. It felt familiar, like our bodies knew each other.”

 

“Maybe they do,” Jensen breathes, eyes falling shut for a millisecond.

 

“I straddled your lap and you fell back into your pillow with your hands all over my ass. It felt…possessive.”

 

“Yeah,” Jensen huffs out in a laugh, opening his eyes and burning Jared with them. “I can get like that sometimes. And then, other times…” Jensen lets that sentence hang there, his grin mysterious and inviting. Jared’s chest constricts with want.

 

“You grabbed my ass and hauled my body into yours. I could feel how hard you were for me. We moved like that for awhile in the dream, rutting against each other fully clothed, needy, like…” Jared can’t think. Watching Jensen’s chest rise and fall with labored breathing steals the words from Jared’s mouth. He feels light-headed, feels blood rushing south, feels himself growing hard in his jeans as images from the dream replay in his mind.

 

“…animals.” Jensen groans. It’s not a question.

 

“Animals...” he agrees. “And when you started peeling off your own clothes, all I could think was ‘ _he’s so beautiful_.’ You’re so beautiful, Jen.”

 

Jensen has no response to that, just keeps staring at Jared through the haze of his desire and the tiny little iPhone screen, chest heaving. He’s lightly running the fingers of one hand over his right nipple. Jared’s not sure he even knows he’s touching himself, but the vision makes him bold.

 

“Will you show me, Jen?” Jensen’s face shows slight disbelief as Jared speaks. “Show me how beautiful you are? I want to see you.”

 

Without breaking eye contact, Jensen kicks the thin blanket away and pulls off his boxers, revealing muscular legs and a proud, hard cock. His hands wander across his own body as he shifts slightly to his left side, toward Jared. He wraps his fingers around the solid line of his erection, moistening then biting his lower lip. Jared wants to bite that lip himself. He wishes there was better light in there.

 

“Now you,” Jensen moans, stroking with purpose.

 

Propping his phone against the bedside lamp, Jared peels away the dark fabric of his black t-shirt, loose ponytail falling out completely at the same time. Jensen’s voice crawls into his ears as he reaches for the buttons on his jeans.

 

“Holy shit,” Jensen groans. “I wish I was there to strip you myself. You are magnificent.”

 

Jared just smiles, looks away, suddenly shy. He hears the voice of Dream-Jensen coming through the tinny speaker of his phone, the confident Jensen, the one that knows exactly what he wants and isn’t anxious about asking for it.

 

Jesus, that’s hot. He can’t peel his off jeans and underwear fast enough.

 

“Fuck, Jared,” Jensen groans. “I cannot believe you’ve been hiding a body like that under there all this time.” There’s laughter in his voice, but a hitching in his breath as he strokes himself, new intent bubbling under the surface of every movement. Jared takes his own cock in hand at the sight.

 

“God, Jensen,” he sighs, wishing the hands on him were not his own.

 

“What happens next? In your dream?”

 

Jared can see it in his mind’s eye. Dream-Jensen leaning back, inviting, begging to be fucked. Tension builds in every cell of his body. He feels … electric.

 

“In my dream you leaned back and opened your legs for me, Jen. You begged for my cock inside you.” Jared hears Jensen moan outwardly at that, sees the movements of his right hand quicken. “You want that? Want my hard cock splitting you open?”

 

“Oh, fuck, yes.” Jared sees Jensen let his eyes drift shut as he brings his left hand to his mouth, suck two fingers in. Jared imagines those fingers reaching back, imagines Jensen opening himself up. He feels his orgasm approaching fast, a runaway train, wheels showering the tracks with sparks. He’s barely touched himself and he so close.

 

Jensen uses his wet fingers to twist one of his nipples, hard, as the other hand moves faster on his cock, and Jared hears the shuddering whine as he tenses and comes. White stripes cover Jensen’s own fist, and that’s it for Jared. The sparks ignite every inch of his body. He curls in on himself, whispering “oh, God, Jensen” as his release takes him over.

 

******

 

The air inside his cabin is thick, humid. Jensen thinks he can hear nothing but his own panting and the sound of Jared calling his name. Faced with the image of Jared coming all over himself, Jensen feels suddenly dumbstruck.

 

“You are amazing,” he hears Jared moan, hand still lazily moving over his softening cock. Their eyes catch each other again in the darkness, through the much-too-small screens. Jensen feels somewhat shy again.

 

“I’m wishing I could kiss you right now,” he says softly.

 

“Yeah,” Jared breathes. “Me too. Raincheck.”

 

“Raincheck.”

 

Suddenly Jared looks shy too. He opens his mouth to speak, closes it again. Opens it again.

 

“Jensen… you can, you can call me ‘baby’ now. If you want.”

 

Jensen feels his smile crack his face in half, feels it break him open like the Grand Canyon, like lightning. He takes a deep breath.

 

“Sleep well, baby,” he says on his exhale.

 

Jared smiles back, a new kind of smile he hasn’t seen before. It warms his whole body. Jensen commits that particular smile to memory, thinks his dreams will be full of that smile tonight.

 

“Sleep well.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short update as the story transitions a bit.

Chad has considered Jared his best friend for 5 years, give or take. Partners in crime through college in Austin, through making a go of it there. 

Through David.

They depended on each other for everything, and David was no different. The biggest, most intense of all their challenges, but they finally left him behind. Chad figures the memories of that part of their lives will forever have crystal-like clarity, for both of them. He'll never be able to forget coming home after a night out with a coworker to find Jared sitting on his porch, leaning against the front door, one eye swollen shut and bottom lip bleeding. Trying to hide the pain of inhaling and exhaling. Chad's anger at David was instant, and his best friend flinched away from it for a minute before finally letting himself try to relax.

Three hours in the ER later, David was the asshole ex and Chad had a new roommate.

Who can blame him then for getting a little protective?

This Jensen guy seems cool, though, seems like a good man. Chad wants to trust him, because Jared does.

And, the inarguable fact: Jared seems happy. Chad hasn't seen that look - actual happiness - on Jared's face in a long, long time.


End file.
